


Red Ring

by katsumeragi



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Horror, Horror, M/M, Psychological Horror, Ten Years Later Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumeragi/pseuds/katsumeragi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera's findings on the train home will surely bring the Vongola family back together again, so he believes. Based the Hans Christian Andersen fairytale and Korean movie "The Red Shoes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Ring

It’s a shame, Gokudera thought, that he’s become so submerged in death that he’s forgotten how to feel spring. It wasn’t too warm and it wasn’t too cold, and his body felt just right snug in his wrinkleless suit. Every little speck of flora and fauna was coming alive, and as he walked unprotected on the streets of the small Japanese town he saw that every man and woman was filled with love.

 

Spring is a season filled with emotions he finds awfully familiar, but the familiarity is probably why he decided to just let go.

 

Instead of basking in spring Gokudera found solace in the fluorescent lights of the nearest subway station. Chirping birds and jittery squirrels were replaced with electrical hums and the hard clack of thick soles on tile. He felt stripped down because of the freezing temperatures of each solemn hallway. In the Namimori Metro Station, there is no spring. There is no love.

 

Gokudera found it strange that the train he was sitting in was barren compared to the usual rush-hour jam. Normally, he’d say he was being hunted. Paranoia would sink in and he’d think even the most obscure mafia was out for his hide. But, Gokudera remembered while fiddling with the lock on his briefcase, there was nothing to protect. He had a day planner and a few patient files within it, and the most dangerous object was probably a ballpoint pen. With his newfound calm, Gokudera has also become domesticated.

 

He remembered three other people walking onto his train car. A schoolgirl, toying with her phone straps, a salaryman who kept checking his pricy watch, and what looked like a homeless woman. Without a second of nodding off, or even a blink (which Gokudera can’t remember the last time he attempted to become so vulnerable,) they vanished. And he was left in the suffocating metal box with nothing except his worn-out body and a ring left on the row of seats in front of him.

 

This is normal, he thought. Normal members of society sleep through their train stops all the time.  

 

He was tired of the people around him just vanishing.

 

Gokudera then fixated on the ring across from him. In this daze of his he picked it up and brushed it with his fingers. It was cheap; the ruby red gem in the middle felt like plastic, the surrounding rhinestones were falling off, and the pewter was so old and soft that he felt like it could crumple in his palm. It must have been a cheap toy that fell off that girl’s phone, he deducted.  

 

But if it was just a broken toy, why was he clinging to it? Ten years of Gokudera’s life were dictated by rings. He thought by now he would fling the piece of junk across the car, but he opened his curled hand and saw the indentations of the remaining rhinestones in his skin.  

 

Ten years of Gokudera’s life were dictated by rings, but that was how he liked it all along.

 

The lights in the subway flickered for a second and the other passengers appeared. Gokudera felt like he woke up from the dream but instead felt himself slipping the ring into his jacket pocket before getting up for his stop.

 

\---

 

Once upon a time, Gokudera used to play mafia. He doesn’t want to say “play” because it reminds him of a man that constantly got on his nerves, but the thing about games is that they’re amazing and life-consuming but so short-lived.  

 

Just like the other gems that have fallen off the ring in his hand, they were all disbanded.

 

He now took after his mentor and became a doctor, except he was one that would treat both sexes and not whichever one he fancied the most. Gokudera figured this would be the best way to dissolve back into normal society, and if there was a head hunt, at least he’d be a harder head to find. His clinic, the poorly painted and cramped office he found in a few towns over, desperately needed a renovation. The former “smoking bomb” left the Otsuka Station and faced more of this inappropriate cheer called Spring while walking to meet a construction worker that a client recommended.  

 

This middle-aged man who was in for his son’s routine physical, he gave him a business card and told him to ask for a “Yamamoto.” He was the best. Gokudera automatically cringed and prayed that fate couldn’t be that fucked. It was a common last name. There’s no way there weren’t at least twenty Yamamotos in the city alone. He was worried for no reason.

 

He arrived at the run-down business complex and realized, yes, fate is that fucked.

 

Luckily, Yamamoto couldn’t see him yet. And, somehow, six years of solitude hadn’t wiped his ridiculous and hair-pulling grin off of his face.  

 

Gokudera noticed that when he looked in the mirror, he could see more black bags under his eyes, more wrinkles on his forehead and hands, and time just seemed to erode him at the ripe age of thirty. He was dying slowly and the wind blew sand grains of his existence away. He saw none of this misery in Yamamoto, and he hated it.

 

The taller man must have felt Gokudera’s smoldering glare aimed at him and took notice of the other, who looked like a child playing a sicker game of hide and seek. That smile, oh how Gokudera enjoyed not seeing that foolish grin for these past years. If he was more enraged and less sickened he’d take the opportunity to knock his teeth out like the chipped planks of a carnival game.

 

“You know, my boss said I’d be taking a job from a Gokudera, but I honestly didn’t think it would be you” Yamamoto said, and Gokudera was transported back to middle school and why he couldn’t stand him in the first place.

 

“How many fucking Gokuderas do you think there are in this prefecture?”  

 

“Haha, I guess you have a good point.”  

 

Why he couldn’t stand him in the first place, that was because he didn’t understand how someone could be that good at hiding his emotions only through smiles. Something was missing.

 

“So some moron like you is now a construction lackey. Great. Whatever happened to your dreams of becoming a baseball star? Are you hammering in nails with a steel bat?”

 

Yamamoto looked downward and scuffed his shoes on the pavement. “Although I wasn’t trying to, baseball isn’t something I can just bribe my way into. The committees weren’t too fond of ‘yakuza ruffians’ getting too involved in their sport.”

 

Something was missing, and that thing was his dignity.

 

“But, it’s good to see that you have done something amazing with yourself, Gokudera!” he said while retracing his steps. “You’re a doctor, you have your own clinic, your life is set straight!”

 

Ah yes, the man who on burning nights broke out in chills and pulled out his own locks of silver hair while crying every tear he has left. He was just dandy.

 

“Don’t expect me to be easy on your workmanship because I know you.” Gokudera threw a set of spare keys at the man and began to walk away.

 

“Wait, where are you going?”

 

He turned around with a disgruntled look. “Why the fuck would it matter to you?”

 

“We haven’t seen each other in years! Isn’t this when most people make coffee dates to catch up?”

 

“I’d rather get your toolbox out of your truck and hammer planks into my skull. Besides,” he paused while taking a cigarette and his sleek lighter from his suit pocket, “I’ve been entrusted with something after that incident, you know?”

 

Yamamoto had an expression of genuine shock. “I thought you would have given up years ago.”

 

“So did I. School ends in fifteen minutes and if I’m even a goddamn minute late he’ll start bawling like a baby. You’d think he’d grow out of it by now.”

 

“Make sure you tell him I said hello. I shouldn’t keep you from getting there on time, right? I’ll see you after the estimation.” Yamamoto smiled again much to the chain-smoker’s annoyance and took his leave into the complex. It hadn’t occurred to Gokudera that he’d have to see him another time.  

 

Fucking recommendations.

 

\---

 

“P-please don’t take so long to get here, Gokudera, you k-kn-know that I’m not good with staying alone for—”

 

“I get it! It’s my fault! I was talking to a contractor about getting the clinic renovated and I took my sweet ass time getting here. Stop crying you stupid cow.”

 

Someone in Gokudera’s life requested that, at the event of his death, this sniveling child in front of him was safely returned to the Bovino family to lead a normal life and get a good education. The boss saw him as a curse and rejected taking him back into the family, so Gokudera was left to fulfill the dead man’s wishes. He took Lambo in his apartment, threw together a living space in his spare room, took him to and from school every day and afternoon, and told him that as long as he wasn’t a “fucking nuisance” he could stay as long as he needed.

 

Except, after the guardians went their separate ways, Lambo became a more needy child. Seeing as how his friends and comrades were being picked off left and right Gokudera couldn’t really blame him for always wanting someone near him, to accompany him to a convenience store, to eat dinner with him, or just to say goodnight to him. And if none of this happened, and he began to tear up like he was at this moment. Gokudera found himself apologizing. Maybe he sympathized with the kid a little too much.

 

“Gokudera, the light in the kitchen isn’t working again. It keeps flickering and you said you’d fix it soon. It’s scary to use it when I’m washing the dishes.”

 

“What happened to you telling me about all the ridiculous shit you learn at school? Why is this the first thing you decide to talk about?”

 

“Because I’d forget to remind you otherwise!” The pseudo-father and pseudo-son walked at each other’s sides down the straight streets to their apartment complex. Lambo tugged at the sleeve of Gokudera’s jacket, and the former ignored it. It was a vice. He was Lambo’s teething ring.  

 

“Guess what I learned at school today? Did you know that the body doesn’t really need air? Like…there’s not a bunch of air in our bodies? It’s just these really tiny things in air we keep. I thought we were just big balloons!” The pepper-haired man looked down in stupor.

 

“Of course I knew that. What, that just clicked in your pea brain? What are they teaching you there? For all the fucking money we funnel into that place they better be doing something right for your head.” It was a private institution that a former mafia member could pay for with ease. The school was more like an American institution instead of the Japanese system, with more assignments but less daunting exams. Sadly, this meant Lambo learned more. And Gokudera had to hear about it every day.

 

The odd pair went to a local hardware store and picked out a new tube of fluorescent light for the apartment and then to a convenience store to get Lambo a snack to keep from whining anymore.  

 

“Oh yeah, before I forget,” Gokudera flatly said while lighting up a new cigarette, “that fucking idiot Yamamoto says hello.”

 

Lambo’s eyes lit up. “How did you see Yamamoto again? Is he doing well? Can I see him?”

 

“He’s the one who’s redesigning the clinic. The pitiable dumbass is a construction worker now.”

 

“I thought he was going to be a baseball player, Gokudera.”

 

Gokudera looked down to see the eyes of a disappointed little boy in the body of a fifteen-year-old who wasn’t supposed to be there.

 

“Sometimes not everything turns out as expected.”

 

“Even I know that, Gokudera,” he sighed as he ate the last waffle bits of his ice cream cone.

 

\---

 

“Gokudera, do you need some help? It doesn’t seem like you’ve got it all the way.” Lambo observed as Gokudera fumbled with the light in the kitchen and was seconds away from throwing a screwdriver at his face.

 

“Like I’m going to let some stupid brat like you get up on this ladder! You’ll get yourself killed!”

 

“Let me know if you need a hammer or something,” the young boy replied while stirring a pot of parboiled noodles on top of their rust-encrusted stove.

 

“A hammer? I’m not nailing a damn glass pipe to the wall, genius.” Gokudera weaved more wires together and screwed in the metal framework. He motioned for Lambo to switch the light on with only his middle finger. Begrudgingly Lambo stepped away from his dinner and flipped the switch, only to moments later cover his eyes from an explosion of fiberglass and electricity.  

 

A slew of cursings later, Lambo found the courage to open his eyes again and saw his guardian hunched over with shards of glass stuck in the right side of his face. He knew to call an ambulance right away before he was shot point blank.

 

Gokudera saw it only fitting that he ran out of tears to cry, so his body resorted to blood.

 

\---

 

As soon as Gokudera walked into the torn-apart clinic sheathed with thin plastic and the overpowering clamor of drills and hammers, he just knew that asshole was going to use the word “cute.” Thinking back on it, he should have had a fist clenched from the get go.  

 

“Wow, you look so cute with that eyepatch on, Goku―” Yamamoto shouted over the installation of some shelves, until the other man unleashed all holy hell onto him so loudly he was heard clearly over the power drill, making the construction team winced. “What happened to you anyway?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously going to try having a full-on fucking conversation with all of this noise. You really are something else.”

 

They exited the clinic and walked down a few flights of stairs to avoid any noise. “Some prick at the hardware store sold me a faulty lightbulb. Good thing I know a quick doctor, even if he’s a pain in the ass to contact.”

 

Yamamoto blinked, recognizing the doctor without even hearing his name. He scratched his head. “Am I the only one you’ve been avoiding all this time?”

 

“You think I’m the one who’s Mister Invisible? We’re all a bit isolated. Find any ex-Vongola affiliate and they’ll take seconds to even remember your name.” Gokudera scoffed and brushed a lock of hair from the gauze in his eyepatch.  

 

Yamamoto made a perplexed humming sound. “Our friend that works in a boxing gym near Kanazawa knows I’m alive and well.” Gokudera asked himself why he’d even visit Ryohei in the first place. All he ever gave him were headaches and unnecessarily hard “buddy punches” to the back.

 

“Well we’ve got a ‘friend’ who’s a police investigator in Chȏfu who didn’t know and didn’t care about your safety…well, anyone’s well-being to tell the truth.” Yamamoto wondered how Hibari would ever fit back into normal society after tasting the thrill of mafia work, but this seemed just about right.

 

“Do you even know that we have a mutual friend who winded up back in jail again?” Gokudera would have laughed if he wasn’t so disgusted. “Our friend who completed a nurse training program in America used her share as a sort of bail. He broke his probation within the first hour by driving a trident through a pedestrian’s chest.”

 

The pyrotechnic smirked, and as tragic as it was Yamamoto even found Mukuro’s situation funny. “It figures Chrome would go into nursing. Is she giving people the organs she can only pretend are inside her?”

 

“Seems like it. We write to each other sometimes under fake names. She talks to Spanner and Irie a lot also.”

 

“Oh yeah, Irie is working at that computer company, right?”

 

“And Spanner is a mechanic at a weapons manufacturer.”

 

“It looks like I had you figured out incorrectly.”

 

“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night.”

 

Gokudera, mid-light of a cigarette, almost dropped his lighter and set his shoes aflame. “Fucking asshole,” he replied and tried to take his leave but Yamamoto grabbed his arms.

 

Another thing he hated about the former athlete was how his grip and his tedious and stupid conversations brought out the worst in him, but he always stayed to listen and was paralyzed by any sudden outreach.

 

Making him dwell on a past in a run-down hallway.  

 

Like he doesn’t think about those times enough on his own.

 

Typical braindead baseball fuckup.

 

“I’ll cut out early tomorrow after starting the mural on the east wall and I’ll cook for you and Lambo. I think it would be good for the both of us.”

 

Typical brain dead baseball fuckup who knew how to get him to listen and obey like the dog he was.

 

“If you expect me to pay for groceries, don’t bother coming over.”

 

Yamamoto showed his approval with another irritating grin, and then his attention was drawn to Gokudera’s hands. All the blisters and burns from past battles that still made each ligament seem so delicate. He was shortly captivated by the shimmer of the red gem on his ring finger with the light of the remaining sun, and looked up to ask “Is this something you saved from back then, Gokudera?”

 

He drew his hand behind his back and looked aside. “It’s nothing. Just a meaningless trinket I found on a train. Nothing that deserves your time.”

 

“Does six sound like a good time to you?”

 

Gokudera didn’t reply, but stormed from the renovation site and went back to his apartment.

 

\---

 

He swore he triple checked Lambo’s sleeping status before he slid the bolt and locked his door only to see himself in the mirror with unbuttoned polyester and a sloppily-knotted tie. He didn’t know what kind of blind curiosity even made him slip the cheap ring on in the first place, and how stupid was he to leave it on while in public! He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled the crimson gem again and felt his hands tremble already. Silver slid down his shaky finger and he piercingly glared into his own eyes as he saw himself, transformed, in the mirror.  

 

This ring, something about it made him into a different person. He filled out into his clothes, his muscle grew back and his face wasn’t so akin to Death’s. The ring was ablaze with a red flame he thought he put far behind him, but that flame spread to his fingertips and through his aorta and vena cava and he knew, he knew it tainted his cornea and iris into seeing someone so completely different in the mirror.

 

What he saw, in that reflective piece of hell, was himself. A stronger version of himself that hadn’t aged since he was twenty-four years old. He’s full of life and power and he could’ve saved the future a second time if he was pressed to.  

 

He cried, he felt tears stream down his thinning cheeks but the image in the mirror did not.  

 

\---

 

He didn’t want to admit he’s mildly impressed that Yamamoto learned how to make something other than sushi, but Gokudera thought it would be better to stir the stew with his spoon, unimpressed, rather than let his taste buds scream in joy.

 

Yamamoto continued to add more vegetables into the large bubbling pot on the stove as Gokudera scowled at his plate and Lambo flipped through the Jump magazine the ex-mafioso bought him as a long-time-no-see-present (Gokudera refused to buy them for him; he thought they were a waste of 350 yen every week.) A faint humming came from the night’s chef, and Gokudera found himself thinking of a time back when a certain man was still alive. They were sitting in the dining hall of a large mansion, when Yamamoto ordered all the chefs and servers to take a night off and he made dinner for the family while humming light melodies over bundles of seaweed and rice.

 

Back when they used to play mafia.

 

“So how does the soup taste?” Yamamoto asks from behind a partition separating the old-fashioned table from the kitchen.

 

“You’re trying to give me hyponatremia with all the fucking salt you poured in here,” he stiffly replied.   

 

“Haha, I’ve figured out by now that if you say the food’s that horrible, I’m well-missed.” Gokudera grumbles a “you don’t know shit” and continues slurping his soup. “Lambo, do you think the soup is good?” Lambo, nodded with a full mouth, turning pages soaked by broth. “We should do things like this more often, now that we know we live so close together.”

 

“Over my goddamned dead body.”

 

“We could play catch with Lambo, or work together on your office renovation, or―”

 

Gokudera groaned as the bumbling idiot went on with ideas on how the three of them should spend more quality time together. His brain filtered out all of the white noise, but he couldn’t help but fixate on the light in the former Rain Guardian’s eyes as he rambled on about a trip to the zoo that didn’t end in Lambo being eaten by otters or Sasagawa punching a bear across the town.  

 

When seeing that twinkle in that bastard’s eyes, he almost agreed to be in another pseudo-family.  

 

And then he remembered how much strength he didn’t have.

 

If he couldn’t protect one person, how was he supposed to keep track of two?

 

“You don’t have to worry about the bear charging after me,” Lambo said to Yamamoto, who must’ve still been on the topic of the zoo. “I’ve found a way to get back to the future so I could zap that bear good!”

 

“Ahaha, really now? What’s your big plan?”

 

“I found this ring on the table yesterday and when I put it on and looked in the mirror, everything went back to normal and I was a real adult again. That bear would be scared stiff!”  

 

Gokudera felt something underneath his skin that made his face contort into fearful rage and his heart pump blood into his limbs with a demon-like speed. He lashed his hands out to Lambo’s and took the ring away from him.  

 

“That’s not a toy, Lambo. And I never, EVER, want to catch you touching it again.” He can’t believe he made the mistake of not keeping it close. It was silly of him, even though it was such a small trivial object. Lambo looks as if he’s going to tear up, and Yamamoto looks quizzically at both of them.

 

“Why are you so worried about him touching that…gashapon prize?” he asks.

 

Gokudera scoffs at him. How dare he say something about an object of such impor―

 

And then he looks down at the cheap plastic in his hands and wonders what exactly snapped in him. He took some kid’s left behind toy because of some weird…sentimentality. He was hallucinating in his room to dream he was someone he used to be. He was slowly going crazy, and somehow Lambo felt the same thing he did.  

 

This all had to be some ridiculous nightmare.

 

Feeling embarrassed, Gokudera stuffed the ring back into his pocket and got up from the dining table for a smoke break. Of course, Yamamoto immediately followed.

 

\---

 

“There’s something I want to ask, Gokudera.”

 

“God, no, you aren’t allowed to come over tomorrow”

 

“Lambo should be twenty-one years old right now. Why is he fifteen?”

 

Gokudera coughs and looks behind him through the balcony’s glass door to make sure Lambo is more preoccupied with his weekly manga to be able to hear. “His bazooka malfunctioned. It brought him six years into the future instead of ten, and then the gun just broke. Since I couldn’t figure out how to repair it and Gianni isn’t around anymore, he’s just going to stay and age at this time. Fucking, most immature fifteen-year-old I’ve ever met.”

 

“Haha, but he seems to be at home now, so it worked for the better.” Yamamoto looked away for a second and hesitated to pull something out of his shirt pocket. The cigarette almost fell out of Gokudera’s agape mouth when he pulled out one of his own.

 

“Dear fucking Christ. You get kicked out of the Major Leagues and you decide to treat your body like shit?”  

 

“Haha, I guess I always did want to be as cool as you, right Gokudera?”

 

“I’m not letting you use my fucking lighter, as punishment.” Yamamoto jokingly whimpered but knew Gokudera was probably serious. He gave up quickly and put the cigarette back in his pocket. “So why did you pick it up?”

 

“Well, it certainly relieves stress, as unhealthy it is. But I get lots of fresh air to counterbalance it from working outside often! Wait, but sometimes the asbestos and the paint goes against that too…let’s just say I could be doing worse, right?”

 

“You’re like a pulmonologist’s wet dream.” Gokudera puts a hand to his forehead. “What exactly would be worse?”

 

He pauses for a few seconds. “Drowning in sake? Steroids? Going on wild goose chases to get some payback for fallen friends? Or even,” He stops to take his phone from his jeans pocket to check the time, “Thinking about you?”

 

Astonished, Gokudera looked over to the taller man and caught the certain smile he had. Yamamoto had about twenty distinct smiles. To the untrained eye, there would be only three, but everyone at one point or another learns to distinguish each. This wasn’t guilt-ridden, or secretive, it was more one filled with regret. He thought he was able to squander every last hope of Yamamoto’s, but inviting him over to cook dinner after years of no contact was probably an unwelcome invitation to play house. To keep safety in numbers at such an uncertain time, they could keep ties, leading to more dinners, more smoke breaks, and more gifts for Lambo.

 

More phone calls, more wasted time from his office renovation for conversations.

 

More moving trucks so they could “stay safer and live together,” more riding the subway together to work.

 

More family building just to get it broken apart again, in the long run.

 

“I think you need to leave.” he said sternly while rubbing the butt of his cigarette on the steel railing of the balcony. He refused to make eye contact, and stared out at the humble Namimori skyline.  

 

“Yeah, I, kind of figured I’d need to after that one, heh.” Gokudera heard the balcony door open, and not quite close. He heard Lambo ask when the taller man would come back, and he didn’t get an answer back.

 

\---

 

The doorknob rattled.

 

Gokudera pulled a pillow over his ears, trying to preserve one of the few nights he could sleep. He was not letting Yamamoto win this night, just because he left his keys on the kitchen counter. That motherfucker, he thought, could sleep in the hallway for the night. Seconds later, the doorknob rattled again.  

 

Taking his sweet time, he swung his legs out of bed and listlessly stumbled to the door.  

 

“I swear, I didn’t see your fucking keys when―”

 

There was no one there.  

 

Puzzled, he looked to the left in the apartment building’s hallway. The yellow tinged walls under the fluorescence showed no one.

 

His brow furrowed. “Very funny, you freak.”

 

He turned to his right.

 

Standing in the middle of the hall was a smaller, slender figure facing away from him. Long wiry chestnut hair draped over her pale shoulders. Her dress was old and tattered silk. Either she was very far from the shopping cart and cardboard box she called home, or Gokudera had seriously lost touch with what young people wear these days.

 

“How the fuck did you get in here? The hallway isn’t for bums to spend the night. Get out if you’re not paying rent you freak.”

 

He immediately regretted the heckling.

 

She turned to him, face alabaster pale, and with colorless eyes that made her look like there was no difference between her skin tone and the whites of her eyes. Just empty indentations. Her lips were just as watered down, but parted and chapped. He wanted to just run inside; he could easily just go back inside, lock his doors and maybe push a bookshelf in front of it, but his limbs stiffened and her lack of a glare turned him to stone.  

 

She raised a thin finger and pointed to the breast pocket of his pajamas.  

 

The skin of her cheek hit the floor, and her body contorted into the crooked shape of a spider. A spider that began to crawl.

 

Fast.

 

nce she was a few meters from him, he broke free from his own spell, twisted the doorknob and shut himself inside. His heart raced as he reached for the ring in his breast pocket.

 

Who...what could possibly want it back?

 

\---

 

Maybe it was a good thing it was raining. Gokudera couldn’t shake the fear brought into him that last night, but at least it prevented remodeling progress and Yamamoto felt compelled to see him instead.  

 

Yamamoto looked to the side at the other man. “I’m glad you’ve stopped kicking me out.”

 

“Gloat about it and I’ll start to.”

 

“Hey, even if it doesn’t mean a lot to you, it does to me!” He stared back off into the skyline while taking a long drag. “You didn’t have to live alone after everything fell apart.”

 

“I wouldn’t be able to even if I wanted to. The Tenth would have wanted his most trustworthy man to take in Lambo, even if he’s not that much worth protecting, that is…are you even listening to me you fucking moron?”

 

“She looks so sad, the girl on that billboard.”

 

Gokudera turned to see what was captivating his attention.

 

…Her.

 

The same lanky woman who was standing in his hallway days ago. Her hair was covering most of her face but he just…knew it was her. He face on the ad was exposed; she was pale and delicate looking, with big childlike blue eyes and an apple face. Her left hand was stroking the side of her cheek as she glared out into the distance.  

 

And, to Gokudera’s horror, the red ring in his pocket was on her ring finger.

 

“…The fuck is she doing with my ring, Yamamoto.”

 

Yamamoto looked quizzically at him. “She’s selling perfume though. Maybe your gashapon ring is just a common prize instead of a rare one.”

 

“You stupid fucker, it’s not a fucking capsule prize and if you put it on you would understand!”  

 

“Should I be worried about you, Gokudera?”

 

“I’m not fucking lying,” he muttered, so angry at the other man he couldn’t ignite a flame with his lighter.  

 

“How about tomorrow we go to the perfume company and see who they brought in for the photo shoot? Maybe we can get her number.”

 

“I can’t tomorrow. Doctor’s appointment for my eye.”

 

“How about afterwards? I’ll pick you up from the hospital and w―”

 

“Remember you idiot? It’s a home visit.”  

 

They exchanged glances and, knowing Gokudera’s distrusting nature, Yamamoto forgot why it might be a more dreaded visit compared to most.

 

\---

 

“-And then there was this girl Shirley, she was visiting from America for a few days but needed a replacement prescription for the duration of her conference. She was very self-conscious of her love handles but I just told her they were great leverage. And she did this thing with her breasts that I have to say, usually hard to persuade others to do, but-”

 

“Shamal.”

 

“What.”

 

“I’ve been sitting on my shitty couch with my eyepatch off for the past half hour listening to your shitty stories about all of the women you’ve fucked. You have not even told me how my fucking eye is at all.”

 

Shamal’s face had that realization dawn on him the same way a hostess remembers there was peanut butter in the cookies while her allergic friend is puffed and seizing on the ground. His tools, laid out on the ornate coffee table, were finally put to use as he picked up the small flashlight and inspected the skin around Gokudera’s eye.  

 

“Well, considering there isn’t a whole lot of glass here, I’m going to have to say you should have gone to a real doctor instead of doing it yourself.”

 

“I’m a pediatrician, fucker.”

 

“And with all of those schoolgirl photos on my phone I’m a photographer for KERA. Keep treating it with antibiotics and I’m sure you’ll be able to open your eye without pain in the next two weeks. You’re fine.”

 

Gokudera rose from the sofa and walked to the bathroom. “I’m double-checking your work, since it’s probably as shit-tacular as your bedside manner.”  

 

Shamal shrugged, and let his eyes wander around the apartment in the meantime. The kid had really done well for himself since he first met him, Shamal thought. It wasn’t the high-class mafia lifestyle his father had given him at first, but he was somewhere stable, and safe.  

 

His eyes focused in on something on top of the kitchen counter. Shamal thought it was a memento from his days as an assassin at first, but the ring was too ostentatious for that. Plus, with the condition it was in, he knew Gokudera probably spent every other hour polishing his more treasured possessions and this wasn’t near spotless.  

\---

 

Shamal felt giddy on his walk to the train.

 

He felt like he had accomplished a great feat, pulling the wool over Gokudera’s eyes as he took that ruby ring off of his nightstand. Gokudera didn’t know what he was getting into with such a small object. He didn’t have to knowledge, or the emotional capacity to deal with that kind of responsibility.

 

Shamal, on the other hand, did. Or so he told himself.

 

It was an artifact like none other. From the moment he laid eyes on it he knew it had to be mafia technology; a kind he couldn’t pinpoint yet, but he knew its initial reaction. Something within him told him to try it on, one time before Gokudera was done bandaging his eye again, so he slipped it on and turned to the mirror in his patient’s bedroom. He liked what he saw; less salt-and-peppered mane, less bags around the eyes, less decay around the gums, and more of what Shamal looked like twenty years ago greeted him. He did what he needed to in order to protect what was left of the Vongola, which was to take that ring and use it to swindle his way into the remaining mafia families through weak links. And those weak links were in the panties of Mafioso trophy wives.

 

Well, maybe the plan had a few holes in logic but he knew it was the right thing to do. He felt it in his creaking bones. He just knew!

 

He stopped concentrating on the ring’s power for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to run into a telephone pole. Shamal was on the last stretch to his apartment complex, where a few shops with chipped paint placards lined the last block.  

 

The first one was a small bakery, with coffee cakes and western pastries and a very dreary girl behind the counter. Three more stores and the ring would be safely his.

 

The second being a law office, which he had never seen the inside of. The door always looked to be partially blocked by stacks of paper. Two more, and Shamal wouldn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder for phantom figures trying to steal his ring.

 

However, he did stop in front of the third shop, which was an alterations office where an elderly man usually worked on tailoring suits for salarymen. He was a bit surprised to see the mannequin in the window not wearing the usual tan pinstripe suit with the tackiest 1970s boutonniere but a long white wedding dress. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the time to let his thoughts wander, he thought, but the fantasy of busting into a bride’s dressing room before the big moment to bend her over the sofa and fuck her raw wouldn’t stop reeling in his mind. The ring would make that all possible, he assured himself.  

 

Lost in his own world, he didn’t notice someone behind him until there was a delicate tap on his shoulder.

 

Startled by the presence of someone else on the streets at two in the morning, and terrified at the prospect of losing the ring, he turned to see a familiar face, for just a blink, until he felt the full weight of his body crashing against the glass of the tailor’s window.

 

A few seconds in stunned silence later, Shamal tried to rise from his position, with back broken and arched arched against the mannequin bride and glass protruding from the skin below his rolled-up sleeves. He knew it would be impossible. Even if he was a shitty doctor, he thought, he at least knew recovering from that crash right now was unrealistic.

 

He also knew, through the numbness of his body, that he couldn’t feel the weight of the ring on his finger anymore.  

 

A creaking sound caught his attention, and he looked up to the ceiling to see a line of jagged glass, swinging like a flag in the wind. Calculating its distance and location in his head, Shamal knew he needed to move, now or else that shard would drive right through his jugular vein and sever a crucial piece of his body. Raising his head as much as his paralyzed back would allow him, he saw the smaller figure under the light of a nearby streetlight.  

 

It waved goodbye to him before the glass said hello.

 

\---

 

Lambo had a worrisome look on his face.

 

This is not going to end well, he thought as he stared wide-eyed at the decapitated body of Shamal. He ran back to the train station before anyone would find him in the morning’s cold by himself.

 

\---

 

Yamamoto never thought he’d be taking the day off of work to sit in the waiting room of an ad agency.

 

He arrived at the future private practice of Gokudera’s to see him distraught and shaken, and unintelligible as to what had happened. After some calming down he learned Shamal met a very gruesome death after the eye checkup.  

 

Gokudera thought it had something to do with the ring that he found on the subway. Yamamoto, as much as he wanted to support his friend and ex-coworker, wasn’t as much of a fool as he used to be. Nothing he had partaken in was just a game, yet he had a hard time believing there was some curse following the smaller man around. Those days were long over.

 

Then why did he suggest going to the advertising firm that used the picture of that girl with the ring?  

 

Slouched, with his arms clasped between his legs, he unconsciously glanced at the covers of magazines spread across the coffee table in front of him, since the rest of the office wasn’t of much interest to visitors. For a company that produces captivating images, they must have had them stowed away since this place was as dull as an insurance office (a place that Yamamoto was more than familiar with, considering his fair share of injuries outside of the safety net of mafia pseudo-healthcare.)

 

He caught Gokudera’s disheveled silver hair in the corner of his eye and looked up from the spread of GQs and Harper’s the same melancholy man but with a thin manila folder in his small ring-adorned hand. Yamamoto stood up and briskly walked over to where he was standing but was immediately brushed away when he tried to give more comfort.

 

“It’s a stock image,” Gokudera said flatly. Yamamoto now understood his even worse mood, seeing there was so little they could know.

 

“So they just picked it off some website with images like this?”

 

“There was a site with vintage photos with people who weren’t identified. They said the title of this one was... ‘Violetta.’ But the chances of that being her name are so slim that it doesn’t even…” The shorter man trailed off, distress growing in his eyes. As insane as all of this was in the first place, he just couldn’t stand that look in even more pain.

 

“How about this,” Yamamoto said, “I’ll try to contact someone about if that name has a link to something bigger, and for now, we just go back to your place, get Lambo out of school, and I’ll make sōmen.”

 

“You can’t just use food as a big fucking bandage for my mentor having his head cut off,” Gokudera replied coldly.  

 

“Yeah, well,” he said, taking the risk of placing a calloused hand on his shoulder, “I can at least try.”

 

\---

 

Yamamoto could hear Irie’s hands being slammed on his desk in the background of the static call.

 

“You called me for a photo source? I’m going to die. You’re going to get me murdered just by calling me. Why did I pick up. Why did I do this to myself.”

 

“Please, Irie, I don’t think a call this far from what happened is going to put a target on your back!” Yamamoto said, trying to calm the programmer down with a wary laugh. He leaned against a dry wall out of the newly painted ones in Gokudera’s office. “I already sent the photo to your email account anyway so you would have been dead already.”

 

“Great. Super. You’re really reassuring, Yamamoto. You’re lucky I’m having a slow day and can just process some dead girl’s photo.” Irie fell silent and methodical keyboard clacks came through the receiving end of his phone. “Who is this girl anyway, while we’re waiting?”

 

“Ah, it’s part of some ad campaign around here but she has a familiar looking ring to some of our...erm, old sets. Gokudera and I were wondering if she was related to-”

 

“Oh. Of course he’s in on it too. You’re lucky that I like to take my asininely difficult work home for fun to create a database that would put the internet as a whole to shame. Her name is...hm. That’s odd.”

 

Yamamoto heard more clacking over the phone. “Something off?”

 

“She’s...you said she was on an ad? Seems like bad juju to have someone like this spread everywhere.”

 

He gulped. “How bad is it?”  
  


“Violetta Song. Daughter of two large landowners in South Korea, Korean mother, Italian father...the family sort of drops off from the 30s into the 40s...wait, this is in Japanese. She was caught smuggling a ring somewhere and refused to let it go, so she was killed on site?”

 

“That’s...that’s awful. Any reason why?”

 

“I’m guessing her family had everything taken away during the Japanese occupation and he refused to let go of that ring...her father’s name pops up a lot in Japanese records after the war and...there’s a link between him and the eighth Vongola boss, Daniela. I mean, I'm sure that ring would have been lost during the war, but if it resurfaced, it could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Keep an eye out, okay?”

 

“Yeah, hopefully this is all just a weird coincidence though.”

 

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

 

Yamamoto hung up the phone without responding. He needed to find Gokudera, fast.

 

\---

 

Once outside of his apartment building Yamamoto slammed the brakes on his beat-up truck, causing a few loose tools to slide around the truck bed. He flew out and through the door of the apartment building. He furiously tapped the up button on the elevator control panel. It was on floor seven. Six. Five. Too damn slow for his past athlete’s lack of patience so he ran up the stairs. He stood in front of their door, furiously jiggling the handle. It was unlocked, something was just...blocking it. Not that it was something that would really stop him.

 

Come to think of it, there were few things that would ever stop him from doing the impossible fo Gokudera, but this wasn’t the time or place.

 

He backed up to the door across the hall. With a small running start he kicked the door open and stumbled over the remains of one of Gokudera’s kitchen chairs, the ones previously used for a nice ramen dinner that was then used to keep him from seeing Gokudera holding Lambo a good ten centimeters above the ground by his neck.

 

He shouted Gokudera’s name to get him to drop Lambo but he head...nothing. He could only hear himself as he shouted for Lambo to give back his ring. He ran to where they stood and practically chopped the older man’s arm off, and clawed his arms off Lambo’s neck. He collapsed to the floor and began coughing. Blood. There was a trace amount of blood in his small hands. Yamamoto went to the kitchen to dampen a small washcloth with cool water. HIs hands shook under the steady stream.

 

He returned to Lambo, crouched to his level and wrapped the washcloth around his neck. He propped hi body against the wall and laid a hand on his chest. “Just breathe. Don’t talk. Breathe. It’s going to be okay, just…”

 

He looked up to Gokudera, who was incapacitated by whatever had come over him and just continued to stare at what he’d done to what he could describe on a really good day as his adoptive son. He couldn’t even explain what sparked his violence, but even if he could, the gaze Yamamoto wore gave him the feeling it wouldn’t be enough. Once Lambo’s breathing was back to normal, Yamamoto grabbed Gokudera by the collar and threw him outside of the apartment. He couldn’t even fight his way back indoors. He felt his house keys hit his chest and instinctively caught them. Yamamoto slammed the door behind him and dragged Gokudera by his arm down the hallway and to the elevator.

 

They stood in painful silence in the elevator. Gokudera sheepishly looked at his former teammate who refused to look back at him. He wondered what kind of tools were in the bed of his truck and how many more minutes he had to live tonight.

 

The elevator stopped at the lobby. As soon as the doors opened Yamamoto pushed him out again. He trailed behind Yamamoto like an obedient lap dog. They walked outside to the truck and he let himself in the passenger’s seat. As soon as his seatbelt was clicked shut the car jerked to life and Yamamoto drove like a man with a deathwish.

 

They drove in silence. Yamamoto drove onto the freeway, which was bizarrely busy for the night. They barely moved, after a while. There must have been a traffic jam ahead.

 

Gokudera clicked his fingernails against the dashboard. He wasn’t sure what else to do with his hands.

 

“There’s always been a lot of times where I just don’t get you. The way you would obsess over details that didn’t matter, the way you couldn’t just talk to people the normal way,” Yamamoto began, keeping his eyes on the road. “But this? You let me back into your life so that I can watch you cling to some fake Vongola ring that you think makes you into a superpowered genius again? You want me to watch you kill Lambo and tear me apart again?”

 

Cars were moving again. They drove into a tunnel, a wide one with fairly dim lights.

 

“Stop the car” Gokudera commanded.

 

Yamamoto chuckled. “No. You’re not escaping someone having the guts to tell you what a selfish little kid you can be sometimes.”

 

“Just stop the car.”

 

“You gonna run back? Get hit by a car because I didn’t grab your precious vending machine toy with your keys? Wanna go back and get a few more hits on Lambo?”

 

“I said just fucking stop the car!”

 

Yamamoto swerved into the stop lane of the tunnel and slammed his brakes. Gokudera unfastened his seatbelt while fidgeting with frustration how it just wouldn’t let him go, and found a way to slam the car door open and closed. He leaned against the back of the truck, shrinking himself.

 

Gokudera just wanted to disappear. He hated being dragged away from his home and a fight with Lambo, like he was the child in this situation. But he was. He knew that ever since he picked up that piece-of-shitcapsule prize he’d turn into something...terrible. Monstrous. Selfish, impulsive, pathetic. Weak. Weaker than he was before he had no false hope of saving what was left of their family. He wanted to snap before, daily, but ever since he found his ring he was on the brink almost every minute. It consumed him in a way nothing had in years, controlling his every move, his emotions…

 

He felt the slight touch of Yamamoto’s hand on his shoulder and he winced away.

 

“I’m sorry…” Yamamoto said, moving his hand back. “Maybe it’s not the time for that. I might have been a little too harsh with what I said.”

 

He just crumbled as soon as he felt that smallest touch.

 

“Don’t you think I have a little bit of fucking self-awareness, huh?” Gokudera asked through sobs. “Don’t you think I see that I’m treating you, and Lambo like shit? I mean I always did that but don’t you think I see it’s getting worse?”  

 

“Gokudera, please, it’s going to…it’s going to be okay,” Yamamoto pleaded, resting a strong hand onto his shoulder, even if his wavering voice said otherwise of his courage. The other man turned, and he expected him to snap back, but instead Gokudera collapsed into his arms.

 

“I don’t want it anymore, Takeshi” he said. Yamamoto’s eyes widened. It felt like ages until he got the privilege back of hearing his first name. “I want this to be over, and I...just, I can’t deal with this tonight. Let’s just drive somewhere. Anywhere. Just for a while.”

 

“You think it’ll be okay to leave the ring with Lambo?”

 

“He doesn’t touch it the way...the way that I do. He’s a lot smarter than I’d ever get caught praising him for.”

 

On the car ride back, Yamamoto switched his turn signal on to take Gokudera back to his apartment. “I don’t’ want to go back there.” the silver-haired man said.  

 

“Who’s going to take care of Lambo for the night?”

 

“I’ll send him a message. I just….don’t want to face him tonight.” Yamamoto silently understood. “Does your place have any mirrors, Yama?”

 

He paused. “…Surprisingly, no. I took out the one in my bathroom a few weeks ago because I accidentally shattered it.”  

 

“Please don’t make me go back there. Just….one night.” He couldn’t say no.

 

The rest of the car ride was silent except for the small hitches in Gokudera's breath as he tried to pull himself together. 

 

\---

 

As Yamamoto, unwilling to pull away from the kiss, used Gokudera’s body to force the door of his apartment open, Gokudera thought about high school.

 

He’s reminded of after countless battles Tsuna actually worked up the courage to ask Kyoko out on a date after his coaching and ego-fluffing. Despite what the other Guardians whispered behind his back the moment Tsuna made that decision, it didn’t leave his heart in stitches. He loved him, yes, but, not like that. There was loyalty and selflessness but never a physical attraction. Professionalism and years in the business kept him in line and devoid of emotion for almost anything else. But never Yamamoto. He’d make sure he’d greet him with that gratingly happy smile of his, he’d find that one way or another to make small talk with him, he’d drink too much beer and comment about how pretty his hair was because of the way the chandelier crystals gleamed off of it.  

 

He once even told Gokudera he loved him, hours after an intense shootout, while both men were dressing wounds. In his disbelief, Gokudera thinks he remembers throwing a roll of gauze at his head and telling him to leave.  

 

He always ran away from Yamamoto’s stormchasing because he never knew how to deal with that…dedication; that undying love that he didn’t think he could give someone in return.  

 

He was a totem of the life he yearned to have back, and for that he’d willingly lose himself in him for the night.  

 

\---

 

Gokudera was driving home.

 

It was only 3:30 in the morning. Something about the night...didn’t seem right. He took Yamamoto’s truck; he would make sure he’d return it in the morning. He was sure there was a train station very far away from his home.

 

He was confused how he could surrender himself so easily to...whatever it was he and Takeshi shared that night. How in the course of one meltdown he was able to feel comfortable using his first name again. He woke up early in the morning and couldn’t describe why he needed to just return home. At least he talked to Takeshi a little before he left but...it was getting hard for him to concentrate. Maybe it was guilt for leaving Lambo alone. Especially with the ring nearby.

 

Lambo was still awake, strangely enough. Maybe he was more worried about his whereabouts than he thought. He was met with a scowl when he was done setting Yamamoto’s keys on the kitchen counter. How stupid of him to not leave a message, or take a bag for the night. Or his ring.

 

“Hey, sorry I didn’t call last night, I sorta got caught up-”

 

“Why can’t I talk to Yamamoto?”

 

He froze. That was weird. Why would he have his new number in the first place? Why would he need to check in on him?

 

“Wh-what do you mean by that? He might still be asleep, since I left there early in the morning, and we stayed up late talking abou-”

 

“I’m not a child anymore!” He stood up, placing himself behind the couch out of fear. “I called, since you didn’t come home. His line is cut off. Why are you home unharmed if something happened to his phone line?”

 

“Maybe something happened on my way over? I think you’re worrying over nothing. It’ll be fixed in no time. He’s a contractor after all!” He held a hand out to his adoptive cow yet he backed away, he ring still clutched in his trembling hand. He had the eyes of a woman scorned, like Violetta probably once had.

 

“You...what did this ring do to you Gokudera?” Tears began to well in the corners of his eyes. This isn’t what he wanted, Gokudera thought. Or was it? No, it wasn’t. If he had the ring in his hands in the first place, there wouldn’t be crying. Of course. But Lambo wouldn’t understand that. That’s why he needed to act fast. Very fast.

 

He lunged for the arm Lambo tucked behind himself, but Lambo quickly dodged him and leapt over the couch. Having no sense of depth or time anymore Gokudera still tried to reach for him, but fell on his face as Lambo ran through the apartment door. Gokudera lifted himself up, not even realizing how hard his face impacted the floor. His eyepatch had slid off once his face caught friction with the floorboards. Cool air met his scabbing wound, but he wouldn’t have known the difference in his crazed fury.

 

He ran down the stairs, turning every corner enough to throw his neck out, desperately trying to keep pace with Lambo. His small patters were in ear’s reach. Little breadcrumbs for him to reach his ring. The only thing that felt like home lately. Wait, was that right either? What did he say to Yamamoto hours ago? Did he mean the ring instead?

 

At the base of the apartment building, in a long stretch of hallway past the elevators, he saw Lambo’s wispy black hair turn left outside. Almost breaking the entrance doors out of impatience he followed the small silhouette through the streets. Alarmingly empty streets. It’s as if the world knew not to interfere in getting his ring back. No cicadas croaked, none of the convenience stores glowed neon, no stars were in the sky. It was just him, running after his ring.

 

No, Gokudera realized, he spent too much time staring at the sky and he lost his ring. He was spinning, looking down every street and every doorway to see wherever stupid Lambo took his ring. Wait, he heard something. Very soft footsteps. The subway entrance! He had to have run down there!

 

Lambo was far too fast for Gokudera’s out-of-shape body. His breath ran ragged as he almost slipped on the tile in front of the ticket station. He was surprised his arms didn’t snap as he vaulted himself over the gate to get to the platforms. Tripping over himself down the stairs, he arrived at the same platform he arrived at every day home from work, on the same train that he was blessed enough to find his new ring.

 

Hitched breathing and cries came from the tunnel. It was late enough at night. The trains weren’t in service at this point as far as he could remember. He wasn’t really sure what he could remember anymore but he knew the trains weren’t going to be in the way of getting Lambo back and the ring.

 

He ran further into the darkness.

 

I’ll find him.

 

I’ll fucking find that kid, and I’ll fucking find that ring.

 

The station’s light no longer illuminated the track beneath his feet.  

 

“Lambo, Lambo where are you?” Gokudera echoed, such sweet concern tainted with hysteria and malice.

 

He heard crying in the distance. He had him. He had it.

 

“Lambo, sweetie, I’m right here, don’t cry.”

 

He plunged further into the darkness, his pace not letting up.

 

“I, I know what happened with Shamal, and I’m not mad, I promise. I know he was just going to hurt you because you knew how important the ring is. I’m here, I’m here to protect you because I know how important it is too!”

 

Gokudera’s mind pulled up the memories of running away from the boutique window there he himself pushed his mentor into. He had to kill him. He knew how powerful the ring was and he just wasn’t meant to have it. He’d hurt himself. He didn’t understand the responsibility. Shamal needed the escape of death before he did something so much worse. And poor Lambo, after all of the chiding he was forced to hear, didn’t understand that of course he was the one to blame for Shamal’s death. Gokudera did nothing wrong because the ring had chosen him to have its power.  

 

Why didn’t it make sense to anyone else?  

 

For a second he almost tripped on his shoelaces, but something drove him further instead of falling flat on his face.  

 

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t give it to me, Lambo!”

 

The crying continued. The crying of a child that only he could hear in the tunnels of the subway began to age. They were less of a child’s and more of a young woman’s, but was indistinguishable to Gokudera’s obsession.  

 

“I know how you feel more than anyone. Takeshi told me I was going to hurt myself because of the ring, but I had to see through him and realize he wanted its power all for himself!”

 

His mind flashed back to the second night he stayed at the other man’s apartment, and he remembered the distressed look in his eyes. Yamamoto told him he was unhealthy, that the ring was changing him for the worse.

 

Gokudera pulled a letter opener off of his desk, and came towards him. His eyes softened with acceptance of the monster he became in front of his eyes. “I loved you for so long, Hayato, but I can’t love what you’ve become.” He just didn’t understand. He was jealous. Yamamoto was so jealous of the new power he had that he wanted to lock him away until he got “better” s he could take the ring for himself!  

 

For a minute he almost felt regretful.  

 

“I killed him, Lambo! I killed Takeshi so he wouldn’t take the ring away from us!”

 

Lord knows what could have happened if he didn’t drive the letter opener through his heart. He drove it so deep it pinned him to the wall. The Tenth wouldn’t be able to come back because Yamamoto wouldn’t use his power for the good of the family. That’s why he had to kill him, no matter how much the upsetting look he got in return clawed at the last part of his humanity.

 

He could get rid of all that regret as soon as he got his ring back.

 

With his ring he could go back to his stronger self and Yamamoto wouldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t need to kill him twice if he had all the power. No one would have to die. He could bring the family all back together again, a living Yamamoto, a living Tenth, a proper-aged Lambo, all together as Vongola again.  

 

We can all be a family again, and can all be so much stronger once I get the ring back.

 

I can go back, with the ring.

 

In his mind, the woman’s, or Lambo’s, crying stopped. All he could hear was the heaviness of his breath and the pounding of his heart. He was going to tire out. His body fought against its ardor to crumble.

 

I can get all of this blood off my hands with the ring.

 

I’ll serve Vongola so well with the ring.

 

I can be myself again.

 

Hayato Gokudera continued to run in the darkness.

  
  
  
  
  


It was sunrise, about half past ten.

 

In the busy downtown area of their small suburb, there was a nice hotel, with ornate velvety armchairs in the lobby and ostentatious details on every plaster sconce, wooden desk, and the fireplace, where Lambo was rubbing his hands. He dug in his pants pocket for the cool touch of the ring Gokudera loved more than, well, anything at this point. He was able to lose him outside the apartment building, but after he watched him go down to the train station there was no sight of him.

 

He’d start calling police stations and hospitals after his task. He had to at least try to be hopeful.

 

With one last glance he threw the ring into the fire. Maybe with the ring being destroyed, Gokudera would come back to his senses. It was pitiful to think the way he did, but Lambo thought maybe it’d release some kind of extinct magic that would make everything better again.

 

As soon as he watched the last bit of the ruby-colored gem melt away he realized, son of a bitch, it was plastic the entire time.

**Author's Note:**

> The world is really in move need of great horror fan fiction. I've always adored HCA fairytales and a good Korean mindfuck movie so the winning combination struck me as a good thing to base a fic off of, especially for the desolate world of a post-Tsuna future. Give the movie a watch if you can find it.
> 
> This is a six-year WIP. I fucked up big time.
> 
> I was thinking about leaving the ending up in the air for the reader to decide if the ring was a real power ring or not, but well...I had to leave Lambo heartbroken.


End file.
